Hidden Treasures
by kalenko
Summary: Flynn gets a job as a night guard at the Museum of Modern Art — but for a specific reason.
1. PROPOSAL

_They were seeking out the treasure of their destiny,__  
><em>_without actually wanting to live out their destiny._  
><em>—<em>**Paulo Coelho**_._

Harry yawned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his of his palms — he wasn't exactly ready to start his day, but he had hit the snooze button a few times too many already. He walked into the living area of the apartment, stopping in his tracks once he noticed the piles upon piles of research littering the room. There were newspapers, print-outs of articles, photographs, and everything else that might be of some assistance to them. It was Nathan's doing; obviously, Harry was only interested in the reward. "Drake?" He called out curiously, stepping over and between the papers laid out across the floor as he made his way into the kitchen, nearly laughing once he noticed the empty energy drink cans all over the countertops – oh, and of course Nathan, passed out on the table.

Harry walked over to Nathan, placing his hands gently on his shoulders. "Wake up sweetheart. It's time for school."

Nathan jolted awake, suddenly alert as he looked up at Harry, wiping the drool away from his chin with the back of his hand. "What time is it?" He looked to his wrist, forgetting he didn't exactly like wearing his watch when they weren't on their little 'adventures'.

Harry chuckled, pointing to the LED display of the microwave. "A little after 9, were you awake all night?" He arched a brow, patting the younger male on the shoulder before he made his way to the fridge, his stomach rumbling.

"Ah, well, most of it...obviously." Nathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking a few times to clear them, and glanced down at the drool-covered papers he had been sleeping on.

Harry smiled, retrieving two bowls from the cupboard and pouring them each a bowl of cereal, navigating his way around some of the cans that had fallen to the floor as he made his back to the table, and sitting across from his friend. "Find anything interesting?" He set their bowls down, sliding Nathan one and tapping the edge, as if he were insisting he eat.

Nathan ignored him, shuffling through the papers and eventually sliding a thin pamphlet across the tabletop, one that was very familiar to Harry. "The museum is having a show—" he began, shoveling a spoonful of Fruity Pebbles into his mouth. "I'm sure you've heard about this, but look. I've been doing some research about this stuff. These are Egyptian pots. Well, these specific pots contain pieces of a map. Those Pharaohs were some sneaky motherfuckers Flynn. I should probably brush up on my Arabic after attempting to read this. But look. You've heard of Cleopatra, right? Of course you have. Well you know that she killed herself with her lover, Mark Antony. And before you ask, no. Not the singer." He paused, sighing quietly. "Anyway. Before she killed herself, she hid what could be tens of millions of dollars worth of gold. Not to mention whatever other gems might be hidden with it. Well, she was crafty. One of her servants? Hid it for her. And she told them to take the map, divide it into a dozen or so pieces, and then hide it in a bunch of pots. Well, they did. But they didn't quite get the message. Instead of just stuffing it in some pots, they made new pots, and put the map between the layers of clay. Those map pieces? Are going to be on display."

Harry had been listening intently, chewing his breakfast as quietly as he could. "Well that's all well and good mate. But how do you expect us to just walk out of there with a dozen huge Egyptian pots? Won't it look a little suspicious?"

"We aren't taking the pots. Only the map pieces."

"Okay, but...wait just a tick. We're going to break these pots…inside the museum? Take the pieces, and just leave the broken pots all over the place?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nope. Just making sure I had the plan right. When do we get started?"

Nathan grinned, reaching out and patting Harry on the shoulder. "As soon as you get your sorry ass to work."

(to be continued….)


	2. DILEMMA

**Harry POV**

"Alright then, I should be off. Why I ever thought working at this museum was a good idea..I'll never know." Harry grabbed his house keys, and his badge to get into the back door of the museum and walked back into the kitchen. "Oh, right. Now I remember." He smiled cheekily, holding up the small piece of plastic that served as his key into work, and into their next heist. "You know Drake. You can read all the books in the world. Do all the research you possibly can. And yet, I'm the one that got us the key into the museum." Harry dangled the small piece of plastic in front of Nathan before clipping it to one of the loops of his pants.

Grabbing a handful of Nathan's hair, and pulled the other man's head back to press a kiss to his lips. "Mmm. Damn. Those kisses are always too short love. But, I really do have to go before I end up being late. I'll be home around midnight. If you go anywhere, please, for the love of all that is holy. Take care of yourself?" Living in New York City caused Harry to worry himself sick over Nathan's wellbeing anytime they couldn't be together, just as Nathan worried about Harry. He pressed one more short kiss to the lips that he had become completely addicted to, before finally letting go of Nathan and making his way to the door. "Oh, and go easy on the research, will you? We've got plenty of time to figure this one out. These pots won't be on display for another week. And they'll be there for a month. Take a break love. I'll be home as soon as possible." With a smile, he left, making sure to lock the door on his way out.

As he made his way towards the museum, he realized that he had left his cell phone sitting on the dresser in their bedroom, but he was already running late. He didn't think it would be the best idea to run back and get it. If Nathan needed him, he had the number to the museum, he could call him at work. Work. What a joke. Harry wasn't completely sure how he hadn't gone postal on his coworkers already. These people truly had no idea what they were working so close to in these museums. Paintings, pottery, and sculptures, all worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. And they had no idea. But that's not what he was there for. Hundreds of thousands was nice, and it was by no means a small amount of money. But if he were to take something, someone would realize that it was gone right away. With these pots, it would be assumed that vandals had snuck in and broken them, perhaps an activist group even. Besides, hundreds of thousands is wonderful. But millions? Millions is what you aim for.

**Nathan POV**

It was always hard watching Harry leave for work, knowing that he would be gone for so long. They each had their own ways of preparing for a job. Harry was a hands on person. He would just straight into whatever it was, and muscle his way in. Nathan, for lack of a better phrase, was the brains of the operation. He studied, he read up on whatever their target what, and he tried to learn everything about it that he could before they even considered doing it. He felt confident that he knew all he could about this job. All he needed know were those map pieces.

Shifting his eyes back to one the hundreds of pieces of paper laying all over their home. He couldn't even concentrate anymore. Yawning, he glanced over at the bright LED light of the microwave. Seven o'clock in the evening. Had Harry really been gone for over an hour? He could sleep now, be awake when Harry got home, and finish his research then. He was already beginning to nod off, so he stood and walked over to the couch, falling down onto the stacks of papers. He was asleep as soon as his head hit the cushion.

**Harry POV**

So fucking much blood.

Oh god...that smell. Copper and salt, and...oh god. He felt like he was going to be sick.

Harry staggered down the street, one hand pressed against the rough brick of the buildings he was walking beside. The other hand felt like it was trying to hold in whatever blood still remained in him, as it was pressed roughly against his side.

He walked with only one eye open. He couldn't open the other, the blood coming from the gash in his head was streaming down into his eye and obstructing his vision. He had been jumped walking home from work by three guys looking for some easy money. When he told them he didn't have any cash on him, and tried to walk away, they jumped him. One had a knife, and the other two had no problem holding him down while the other one sliced him up pretty badly. The gash above his eye was just the beginning. His shirt was cut, barely hanging from his shoulders. There were cuts all over his chest and stomach. He could feel the stinging of the cold night air hitting the cuts. He was almost afraid to look down, unsure about what he would see on his own body.

He could have cried when he finally made it back to his apartment, but he stopped himself. He still had to make it up to the second floor.

After what felt like hours, he was on his knees, crawling towards his door. He knocked weakly, praying for Nathan to hear it.

The blood loss was getting to him, more so know than it had been before. Harry tried his hardest to pull himself up into a sitting position before slumping against the wall beside their door, and allowing the blackness to take over.

**Nathan POV**

Nathan's eyes opened slowly, yawning widely and stretching his arms above his head and groaning at the satisfying pops coming from his joints. He noticed that it was dark all around him, and he sat up slowly. When his eyes fell on the clock beside the bed, he was suddenly wide awake. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning. Why hadn't Harry got into bed with him when he got home?

Standing, he walked through the home, checking each room, his heartbeat speeding up with each room he walked through. Harry wasn't there. He was supposed to be home an hour ago, and he wasn't anywhere in their home.

Calm down Nathan. He could have...gone out after work, or had to work later for some reason. He tried to talk himself down, to calm himself, but nothing was working. Seeing that Harry had left his cell phone at home wasn't helping either.

Finally, he couldn't take the waiting anymore. He had only been waiting for ten minutes, but if something had happened...well...he just needed to find him.

Grabbing his house keys, and wallet, he threw open their door and took a step into the hall. He felt all the air in his body leave in gasp at what he saw propped up against the wall beside their door. It was Harry, his Harry, covered in blood on seemingly every inch of his body. He was unconscious, and his breaths were shallow. He dropped down to his knees, placing his hands on either side of the other man's face and trying to get any sort of response out of him.

"Flynn...what the hell happened to you?"


	3. REVELATIONS

**HARRY POV**

Harry wasn't completely sure what had happened to him. Well, that was an understatement to say the least. As he laid in the hall, waiting for Nathan to hear his weak attempts at knocking, he thought back.

He had walked out of work that night. Almost as soon as he left the museum, a couple guys were on him. One holding a knife in his face. Telling him they wanted money. Harry didn't do anything, just informed them that he didn't have any money on him. Which, he didn't. He didn't carry much money. Didn't have credit cards or debit cards. He liked to stay off the grid, to keep out of the public eye. The last thing he needed was a way for anyone in power to track him, or Drake. To track what they were doing. It would only be a matter of time before someone figured them out if they did that.

When the guys realized he didn't have cash, he heard one mutter that they would have to kill him, because he had seen their faces. Harry tried to put up somewhat of a fight. He punched, knocked one of the guys out for a moment as he ran the other way. But what could he do against three men his size and larger? He laid there, trying to fight back as the one with the knife cut him up. Stabbed him. Sliced his face, his arms, his body to the point there he didn't think there was an inch of him that wasn't covered in blood. Finally, a police siren scared them off. A siren that kept going past them, even after they had run away.

Harry got to his feet as quickly as he could, which wasn't very fast at all. He began to make his way back home. He couldn't go to the hospital. There was nothing for him there. He needed to be home. He could try to stitch himself back up. Maybe even get it done before Nate saw.

Ok, that was highly unlikely, but he didn't want to scare the other man.

By the time Harry had crawled his way up the stairs, his breathing was so pained, so labored that he was amazed that their neighbors hadn't come out to see what the noise was about. It was a while before Harry finally gave up on Nathan hearing his knocking. It wasn't nearly loud enough for him to actually hear, especially if he was asleep. Which he normally was around this time.

Harry had passed out at some point, his back slumped against the wall beside their door, his arm laying limply in front of the door where he had been trying to knock. The only thing that pulled him from the exhaustion and pain that had pulled him under was the rush of cold air that hit him when Nathan opened the door behind him. "Nate..." He mumbled in a voice that sounded nothing like his own.

He wanted to make a joke. Say something to make this all seem...ok. But it wasn't. None of this was ok. "H-honey, I'm home." He finally choked out. His almost frail attempts at humor so weak that he didn't even bother using the strength left in him to try to lift up his head to look at Nathan.

Harry could feel it. There was something more to this. Those thugs were too good at what they were doing to be some common street criminals. They sliced him up to cause as much pain, as much bleeding as possible. And they made sure to keep him alive while they did it. Keep him alive, make sure he felt every bit of the pain they were inflicting on him. They reminded him of Talbot's men. Sinister, enjoying the pain they were able to inflict on their victims. He knew he wasn't dead. Just another one of the magic man's tricks. Talbot was alive. And he was coming for them.

"We've go' pro'lems mate." He slurred out, slumping farther into the wall, willing himself to get up. To walk into their home. As soon as he helped get him to his feet, he was slowly slipping back into the darkness, before losing consciousness completely.

**NATHAN POV**

Problems. That's the only thing Nathan heard. Problems. Harry's voice, cracking and sounding weak. Scaring the living hell out of him. They had jobs go wrong before. Nathan had had his fair share of accidents, in which Harry was stuck shouldering the load, while Nathan just attempted to keep himself together until they found some form of first-aid. But it was nothing like this. Neither one of them had ever come to the point of staring death in the eyes. He wouldn't lose him — he _couldn't _lose him.

"Problems? What kinda problems? What's happening, Flynn? Come on, you gotta talk to me here..."

There was no response, of course, Harry simply stirred in his now unconscious state. Nathan chanced a glance down the hall, realizing how terrible this looked, Harry all bloodied and broken, and Nathan standing over him – it could easily be misunderstood. He needed to get him inside, as quickly and carefully as he could. The problem was, he couldn't really bring himself to move. Nathan's worst nightmare had come true, Harry was...dying.

"Damn it, Flynn, if this doesn't end up killing you, I'm gonna beat your ass when you're feeling better." Sighing quietly, he kneeled down, taking Harry's arm (the one that looked the least cut up), and slung it over his shoulders. Nathan wrapped his free arm around his waist, and pulled him up to his feet, quickly tucking his other arm underneath the other male's knees, and lifting him up into his arms.

Harry was a tad bit heavier than originally expected, and Nathan stutter-stepped as he kicked their apartment door open, having a mini heart attack when he felt himself tipping back into the hall, but he quickly caught himself on the door frame.

"Jesus, Flynn, now I know where all the donuts have been disappearing to," Nathan struggled a bit, pushing the door closed behind him once he eventually made it into the apartment, and hurried into the living room, honestly not caring if he got blood all over the couch as he laid Harry down. He was more concerned with him being comfortable when he woke up – if he woke up.

Running around the house trying to locate their first-aid kit, Nathan had regretted never caring about it. Harry had bought it one afternoon, in case anything similar to this would happen, and Nathan wasn't exactly positive where he had placed it. The bathroom seemed plausible, and he would be correct. After rifling through the cabinet under the sink, he found it — still wrapped up in it's safety plastic.

He rushed back to the living room, tearing it open letting everything fall out onto the floor in front of the couch, where he kneeled down next to Harry. "Come on, wake up…" He mumbled, letting out a frustrated scream as he shifted through the things that were in the kit. He didn't know what to do or how to go about fixing it. Disinfecting his wounds would be first, after he managed to clean some of the blood up. He wasn't sure what the hell happened and he wasn't sure he wanted to know — nobody had ever done any sort of knife work on either of them before. Nobody except for...

Nathan paused, mouth agape as his gaze fell upon Harry's face. He looked almost peaceful, not feeling the excruciating pain that he could only imagine he was in. He had some sort of an idea as to who did this, but he didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to think about it, not until he had to... it was too dangerous to even have it in his head, so he did his best to push it away, ignore the thoughts, and focus on his actions. Nathan took a few deep breaths, silently cursing at himself for taking so long, but he didn't want to stitch up Harry's wounds with shaky hands. "I'm no doctor, Flynn, but I promise I'll do my best. Hey, you may even wake up and have all of your limbs." A soft smile formed on his lips, but it didn't last, falling almost as soon as it rose. It was going to be a hell of a long night.


End file.
